In the Shallows
by Porcia
Summary: Everywhere I look, something reminds me of him. Smells, words, colours, songs. For two years I've cried over him. The best thing that's ever happened to me. The love of my life. He left because we were hurting. Because I was in the shallows.
1. Surfacing

I grab the bar above my head; holding on as the subway train makes its way through the complicated, twisted tunnels. The man beside me is wearing _his_ cologne. Suddenly, I am seventeen years old again, my heart beats a bit quicker. After ten years, you'd think I would be used to it. After two years, you'd think I would have reversed the Pavlovian response I have to the smell. To the smell of _him_.

The train jerks to a stop, and I suddenly remember that it's my stop. I rush out past the closing doors, barely making it onto the platform. Self-consciously, I pat down my pea coat and adjust my leather camera bag, throwing a cursory glance around to make sure no one witnessed my near-miss.

By the time I reach the surface, my face is hot; the escalators aren't working this evening. The cold air hits my skin, I take a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves. I take a deep breath, my lungs burn. I make my way down the sidewalk quickly- the sooner I get inside, the sooner I can have a drink and pretend that everything is fine.

Just thinking about the apartment squeezes my heart. My eyes sting, and I'm suddenly not sure if it's from the cold air or the tears.

There is a couple walking in front of me. Their hands intertwined, intense glances pass between them. Her dress is short, her legs are bare. She is crazy for dressing like that in the winter. But he seems to love it- his hand snakes down to her ass, rubbing. I'm not sure whether the bile in my throat is due to revulsion or envy. It's been two years, after all.

The steps to the building have been cleared of snow, and the salt crunches underneath my boots. Lined combat boots... Not feminine at all, he would always say. I always thought it was a complement- he liked me different, he liked me quirky- but now I'm more inclined to think that it was a critique. Maybe if I wore some of those fancy, expensive leather contraptions that _everyone else_ wears he'd... Maybe if I could just have... No. No.

My boots hit the steps of the old wooden staircase one at a time. I very well may be taking my time. Huh, curious! I'd never noticed that the walls were robin's egg blue before.

Too soon, I'm at the landing._ The _landing. I'm at the door. _The _door. A deep breath. A very deep breath. I dig around my coat pockets for my key. Insert, twist, push.

I look around, making sure there's no sign of _him_. I put my bag onto the counter in the entrance hall, pulling out the Compact Flash card from my camera. No use in sitting, twiddling my thumbs, waiting.

A mug of jasmine tea, my computer. I'm uploading all the pictures I've taken today, praying that at least one shot will be to my liking- there's only a month left before my next exhibition. The mug is halfway to my lips when a buzz breaks through the air. _Him_.

I'm standing at the door, my ear pressed up against the wood. I swear, I can almost hear _his_ breath.

My fingers find the latch, and it begins...


	2. Swimming

My eyes open slowly. The sun is warm on my face. I stare towards the window, watching little specks of dust sparkle in the sunlight. The sheets behind me ruffle, a scalding hot arm wraps around me. Lips caress my nape. I can't help myself... I smile. _He_ grunts softly, before whispering in my ear...

"Good morning..."

I turn in his arms, wrapping myself in him. His naked chest to mine. His soft lips to mine. My thighs straddling one of his. His fingertips dance their way up my spine, suddenly buried in my hair. A moan escapes. Owner unknown.

I shift my legs, we roll over. He's on his back, and I'm straddling him. Our lips still dancing together.

I shift once more. Ahhhh...

Another moan escapes. This time, it's definitely him. I am not quiet, though. I let loose a whimper. _It's so good._

Together, our noises are symphonic. Symphonic poetry. Eat your heart out, Liszt.

My hips rock back and forth, his large warm hands guiding them. Every limb of mine is touching his, his eyes and mine never break contact. Green, green, green, green, green. I'm there. I'm _so there_.

Content, I lay my head on his chest. I'm not sure if my cheek is wet because of his chest, or if his chest is wet because of my cheek. Neither of us questions it.

His lips press softly against the top of my head. A soft laugh bubbles in my throat.

"I'm so addicted to you in the morning. Forget coffee, you're all I'll ever need."

The words are so..._him_.

I'm convinced I'll remember them until the day I die.

"Come, my beautiful bride, let's grab breakfast."

Bride.

If I was smiling before, I am beaming now.

"Of course, husband." I giggle.

Husband and Wife. Finally. After five years. We're bound to one another in every sense of the way. Nothing and no one will ever take him from me, or me from _him_.


	3. Drowned

The lights twinkle just outside the window. They look so sad, tonight.

Or maybe I'm just projecting.

I think of the photographs I took last week, mentally cataloguing them, flipping through them in my mind. I know which ones I want to get blown up, which ones I want to splice. Which ones I want to get rid of. I am planning this in my head, because it distracts me. It distracts me from this.

My hand slinks down to my stomach. It's empty, now. Hollow. A void. Avoid. _He_ isn't here with me, holding my hand. Not like last time, or the time before, or the time before. After three,_ he_ said...

"Stop."

It hurt him too much. But I wanted it too much.

Look where wanting has got me. Alone, avoiding. The room is a calming robin's egg blue. I'm calm. I'm calm because I know that this is it. It won't happen again.

Because it hurts me too much.

My head turns back towards the window just as the hospital room door opens. I know it's _him_. His feet carry him to the side of my metalic bed. He doesn't crawl onto the mattress, cradling me in his arms like the first time. He doesn't cry with me and hold me like he did the second time. He doesn't sit beside me and let me cry on his shoulder like last time.

He pats my hand.

Pats my hand.

The lights of the city outside twinkle, and then blur- as though I am travelling past them in a train. They blur because of the water in my eyes. The tears that I refuse to shed. Because he pats my hand. I need him, God, do I need _him_. But I know that this is the end of the line.

I rub my stomach. The void. It's still rounded. It almost tricks me for a moment- maybe they're wrong. But they're not. This void is about to swallow me whole, I realize. Because number four is the last straw for _him_. I've lost a son or daughter, today. But I also just lost my entire world. Because I've now lost _him._

If I wasn't so sad, so empty, I'd yell. How dare he blame this on me. How dare he.

I have so much hurt inside me. But I love him. I love him, I love him, I love him. But he doesn't love me anymore. He hasn't said it yet, but he will. I can't give him what he wants. What he's always wanted. I am a broken woman- I don't even feel like a woman. I am defective.

He pats my hand one last time, and leaves the room, closing the hospital room door behind him.

I hate the colour of these fucking walls.


	4. Floating

"Bella! Stop!"

I laugh, weaving my way through the rows of vinyl records. My best friend runs after me, panting heavily, but she's smiling.

"Come on, Rosalie, can't you run quicker than that?"

I spoke too soon, because she catches up, her hand grips my forearm. We collapse into a fit of giggles. So light. So very, very light. We stole some green from her brother's stash. It's not our first time. It feels light. We're kites, twirling in the sky.

"Didn't take you girls for the heavy metal type..."

Smooth. So, so smooth.

Green eyes. Green, green, green, green, green. He's tall, awkwardly so. His hair is brownish red. Freckles. His freckles match mine.

I'm convinced this is love at first sight. Green, green, green, green, green. He's wearing green.

"Are you a leprechaun, coming to steal our pot of green?" The words escape my lips before I can stop myself. Rosalie bursts out laughing, clutching her sides, falling to her knees.

He smiles, and I am so much lighter. I'm no longer twirling in the sky, I'm nearly floating among the stars. The oxygen is thin up here.

And that's that. It is love at first sight. We spend the day listening to records- rather, he picks, I listen. Rosalie disappears to find Emmett. My green boy gets me a soda, and we share some candies he keeps by the register. Edward. His name rolls off my tongue.

The day turns to night, and I find my way back to him the next day. And the next. And the next. And the next. And the next.

We spend the entire summer together, listening to records, laughing, sharing candies. I would take picture upon picture of him. He would write me cheesy love letters.

On the last day of summer, before he leaves for college, he kisses me. His lips are so soft, his hair is so soft. My left hand holds on to his shirt tightly- it's soft, worn. He's so soft. My perfect, soft, green boy.

He loves classical music. He loves old folk songs. He loves down and dirty rock 'n roll. He loves me.

He drives down every single weekend to visit me that year. We go to the drive-in. I couldn't possibly tell you what movies I saw. I'm addicted to his lips, to his smell. He smells so good.

I am going to Columbia next year. Where Edward is. I'll be studying visual arts. I'll be a famous photographer one day, he says. He's in the architecture program- he'll build beautiful buildings and name them all after me, he says.


	5. Flood

"Please just sign them, Bella."

I don't want to. I don't want to let him go. How will I live without him? How can I possibly survive without him? If the pen I'm holding in my hand touches this sheet of paper... I'll never see him again.

"No, I can't. I don't want this, Edward, please!" The tears won't stop. I love him, I love him, I love him.

It's too late, though. He is miserable. I've made him miserable. This is my fault. He told me so. He told me that he doesn't love me anymore. That I'm killing him.

Rosalie is in the kitchen, giving us space. To sign these papers. To end things. She's a saint, that Rosalie. She's been staying with me. She isn't speaking with Emmett, anyway- he's taken Edward's side.

She says that he's a coward. That he can't deal with his emotions, with his feelings. She broke his nose when she found out. She broke his nose the night he told me that he wasn't in love with me anymore.

I can't have his baby, and he leaves me.

Last week, Rosalie found me in the bathtub. She thinks I was trying to drown myself. I don't think I was. But it's all been a blur. Maybe I was. It might be nice.

His sister won't take my calls. Nor will his mother. Not even his father.

I'm alone.

If I sign these papers... I will have no family. No husband. No sister. No mother. No father. I will lose everything. He knows this. He knows how important they all are to me. But he still wants this. Up to now I haven't fought. I keep the apartment. That's it. There's nothing of his I want. I just want him. But that's apparently not something I can get in a divorce settlement.

His green eyes don't meet my gaze. He won't look at me.

"Don't make this harder than it already is, Bella."

So cold. Who is this man? The man I love would never do this to me. Would never leave me. I want to hate this man. I want to beat him with my fists. I want to yell at him. I want to curse and scream and kick and bite.

Instead, I bring the pen down to the paper. I'm not sure which name to sign with. Isabella Swan? Isabella Cullen?

I sign Cullen. I'll have to change my name back.

I take a deep breath.

No lazy mornings in bed. No little feet running around. No warm arms wrapped around me. No green-eyed Edward.

I just lost everything.


	6. Buried

The dirt was still upturned. The headstone was there, their names side by side in the dark grey granite.

"Charlie Swan" and "Renee Swan".

Attached at the hip during their lives, resting together forever.

It's romantic, I guess. They lived together, they loved together, they fought together, they died together, and they'll lay together for all eternity.

The grass was squishy beneath my shoes.

They were driving home from a 4th of July party and a drunk driver hit the car head on. Apparently they felt no pain. Apparently it was quick.

"Bella, baby..." his arms wrapped around my stomach, my back pressing against his chest.

I was at the apartment, writing an essay when I got the phone call. I was taking summer classes so that I could eventually graduate a year early and do an internship with some big shot local photographer. Edward was at the bar with Emmett, Rosalie, and his sister Alice- who was now apparently seeing Rosalie's brother Jasper.

It's funny how grief manifests itself. I haven't cried yet. Not a single tear.

Mostly because it hasn't sunk in yet, I think.

"I miss them." These days I can't speak louder than a whisper.

"I know..." his hands rub my arms, comforting me.

I am an orphan. I have no existing family members. I am twenty years old.

Edward is all that I have left. He's the closest thing to family that I have, now. He's my home.

"Never leave me, Edward, please." And I fall apart. I crumble to the ground, Edward falls to his knees beside me. My fists hit the ground and pull at the grass. My sobs must echo throughout the entire cemetery.

His arms crush me to him tighter. This is hard, so hard. My mommy and daddy. I never got to say goodbye. I didn't call the enough. I didn't tell them how much I loved them. How much I love them.

Who will be my family now? I am going to be alone from here on out.

"I've got you... I'm not letting go." He's placing kisses on my head, his hands rubbing my back.

I cry and cry until I can't cry anymore. He doesn't leave.

I miss them so much.

I never knew losing someone would hurt this much.


	7. Treading

The first letter came six months after I signed the papers.

I knew through Emmett that he was in London. He was working at a big fancy architecture firm. Good for him.

I am conflicted about the letter.

For the most part, I'm not sad anymore. I have turned my tears into anger. I am angry. I am angry because every promise he's ever made me, every single one, he's broken. I'm angry because I actually blamed myself for this. I blamed myself for my pain. But it's him. This is all him.

But this letter... Handwritten.

This letter is not a mere collection of beautiful words.

This is a love letter.

It's as though we're teenagers again- he writes about running his fingers through my hair. He writes about kissing me. He writes about how much he misses making love to me in the middle of the night.

I want to be angry with him for sending the letter. He's destroyed my life. He _left_.

As angry as I am, I miss him. My heart physically hurts whenever I think of him. I walk through what used to be _our_ living room, and there are memories everywhere.

Every week, I receive a new letter. And as the weeks go by, I miss him more and more. It feels like it did at the beginning. Before the pregnancies. Before the miscarriages. Before he stopped loving me.

I entertain the idea of writing back. Of responding. Of telling him to stop. Of telling him to come back to me. But I never do...

And then one week, instead of a flurry of beautiful words... He writes me an explanation.

It makes me want to kill him, to kiss him, to smack him. Mostly, it makes me want to fall apart and cry for days.

So I do. I cry for a solid three days- Rosalie finds me in bed, nearly dehydrated. I hadn't been picking up the phone and she worried. She thought she'd find me in the bathtub again. I don't mention that it's run through my head more than a handful of times.

This week marks one year.

It's been one year since he left me.


	8. Clutching

_My darling Bella,_

_I owe you more than a letter. I have no way of knowing if you've even been opening the envelopes. Emmett says that you haven't mentioned anything. I wouldn't blame you for throwing these in the trash the second you see them._

_This letter is different than every other one I've sent you to date. This is an explanation. This is what you've been without for over a year. I'm sorry it's taken me this long._

_The first time I saw you, I fell in love with you. I have been in love with you since the moment I saw you. For so many years my entire world revolved around you- something that is still true to this day. It's been my responsibility to protect you, to cherish you, to love you... since that very day. Can you imagine what seeing you go through all of our... hardships... has done to me? Every time we'd lose a baby, it would kill me inside... because it was killing you. I asked you to stop. I begged you. Every single time, it was as though a part of us died, Isabella. My Bella. I didn't want to be selfish and have you give up something you wanted __so badly__. I just wanted to see you smile, again. I wanted to see you throw your head back in laughter. I couldn't handle seeing you in pain, Bella. _

_We both know that I am prone to overreaction, and I can probably never apologize for all of this enough, Bella. When I got the call... When you were in the hospital that last time, my entire world crumbled around me. It was as though you couldn't or wouldn't understand that I love you more than anything in the world- I love you enough that having a child isn't necessary. We don't __need_ _to have a baby in order to be happy together. It was as though you suddenly cared more about having a son or daughter than about me. That hurt, Bella. _

_The more that I thought about it, the more I realized that you were going through something that I couldn't understand. I spoke with Alice and my mother about it. And they said some things that made sense to me- finally. About how you probably felt as though you were failing. About how you probably felt like I wanted this and was disappointed. _

_I couldn't talk to you. I'm sorry. I just couldn't bring myself to talk to you. If I confronted you, the floodgates would open, and we'd drown._

_I made the decision that I'd take a job in Europe. That we'd separate, put some distance between us, heal. But how unfair would that be to you? What if you blamed everything on me? Maybe it was all my fault? Maybe you wanted someone else- someone who would 'fit' better with you._

_I stupidly thought that leaving you would allow you to make that choice. I stupidly thought that I could handle leaving you... Being separated from your side._

_Every single moment of my day revolves around you, Bella. I wonder what you're eating for breakfast, for lunch. I wonder what you'll be photographing next. I wonder if you're missing me, too. _

_We've been apart for a year now, love. I miss you so much that sometimes it feels like I can't breathe. I am so sorry for making you wait so long for an explanation. I am so sorry that I didn't talk to you. I am sorry for my lies- I could never, ever, stop loving you._

_I wish I had been man enough to tell you that I needed time. That I needed space. That I needed to heal so that I can be the man you deserve._

_I will return to you in a year, Bella. I will knock on your door. Whether you open it is up to you. Whether you give me the opportunity to beg for forgiveness is up to you... I just ask one thing; that no matter what your decision is, that you'll take care of yourself. I never did this to do bring you more harm- I just want you to be __you__ again._

_I love you._

_Edward_


	9. Skimming

He looks like he did ten years ago. His stupid hair. His stupid lips. His stupid green eyes.

His stupid hair, matted with snow. His stupid green eyes, framed with thick eyelashes, little snowflakes holding on to dear life. His stupid lips, ruby red from the cold.

_He_ is here. In _this_ apartment.

His arms are rigid, tight with tension.

"Where are your bags?"

He doesn't answer me. He just starts crying.

I wish it was easier to watch him cry. I wish I could make him suffer just a bit more. We've said everything that there is to say. I've saved every single one of his letters- I can only hope he's saved every single one of mine.

"I'm sorry..."

It's so faint that I almost think I imagined it. A year ago, I would be furious. I would be livid. "How dare he. How _dare_ he?" ...but the real me? The one who's living in the present? My heart is warm and tingly, my legs are springs, my lips are magnets.

I find myself in his arms, my hands tangled in his hair, his hands rubbing wide circles across my back. We're crying and kissing. His hands shift down to my upper thighs, instinctively I jump, wrapping my legs around his hips.

It is that easy, I learn. It is that easy to forgive the man you love. It is that easy to fall in love all over again.

We made no promises in our letters- there was no guarantee that I'd open the door. There was no guarantee that _this_ would happen. But my mind was made up long before I received any letters. My mind was made up the second I saw him, ten years ago. He is the man that I love, that I cherish. He is not perfect, and neither am I. He is perfect for me, though. Every single fiber of my being loves him. I can feel it deep in my bones. He is my best friend, he is everything to me.

This is right. So very right.

I am a 27 year old woman, who has suffered incredible loses.

I am a 27 year old woman, who has been lucky enough to find the reason why her heart beats.

He starts to speak, and suddenly I need to sit.

We're on the couch, _the_ couch. And he's talking and talking and talking. My hands are wringing in my lap. He occasionally reaches over to try and touch me. I flinch back. I've spent the better part of two years conditioning myself to hate this man. To hate him as much as he claimed to hate me- or as much as he seemed to hate me. Because that's the only way I can rationalize the entire thing.

But he starts talking, and I start sobbing. I am straddling his lap, his arms are wrapped around me, crushing me to him. As though he is trying to squeeze the sobs out of me, expel all the bad, all the sadness. My hands find their way into his hair, and I feel his breath on my neck.

My love, my Edward.

He shushes me, rocking us back and forth. I breathe in his scent, and I feel safe. I am at home.

My sobs calm, and I start hiccuping. He chuckles. I pull away from his chest, searching for his eyes.

I pull my hands away from their place in his locks.

The sound of the slap echoes throughout the entire apartment. His head whips to the side, his mouth pops open, and his jaw tenses and relaxes, tenses and relaxes.

My hands find his jaw. I turn him towards me again and our eyes meet.

"If you ever leave me again, I will hunt you down. Am I understood, Edward Anthony?" I fight to control the shakiness in my voice, to no avail.

Without giving him a chance to answer, my lips meet his.

I had already given up, if I'm being honest with myself. I had given up on the idea of a white picket fence, of weekends in bed. Of kisses and flowers. Of little feet running around us. Of a warm breath on the back of my neck first thing in the morning.

I had said goodbye to the words I wanted to say. I had said goodbye to the children we would never meet. I had said goodbye to growing old together.

I knew where he was. I knew he was somewhere. I could have chased him, but he made sure that I didn't. That I wouldn't. That I couldn't.

And now, everything comes rushing back. I am no longer wondering. Asking myself if someone else is warming his bed. Asking myself why didn't he love me enough?

"Thank you..." my voice is soft, hesitant as I break our kiss. My forehead rests against his, our noses rubbing.

"For what, baby?" My heart swells.

"I understand now..." I am not being deliberately cryptic. I have lost the ability to form coherent sentences, it seems.

"I understand why you left. Thank you..." I finish.

We're staring at each other. My top lip brushes his. His inhales are my exhales. My eyes close and I burrow myself even deeper into his warmth.

We make love on _the_ couch. And then the floor. And then on the bed. The bed that's been so empty, so cold, so lonely. The bed that is now warm, filled with limbs and the love of my life.


	10. Wading

The train races past trees, blurring the shoreline. The sun is setting and the entire sky is bright pink, purple and orange. I can see my reflection in the window, and just beyond my shoulder is a head of rusty coloured hair. He is not as graceful or peaceful as the scene beyond the window. He is snoring up a storm, most likely waking up everyone seated near us. I can't help but smile. I reach down to the backpack settled by my feet, extracting my camera. I've seen beauty like this around me hundreds of times, but there's something about capturing the moment, _this_ moment that brings me comfort. I glance back towards the setting sun, and direct my lens towards the beautiful man who is now whimpering ungracefully. I am too close to capture his entire body, so I settle on the soft way his eyelashes fan his cheekbones. I capture his parted lips. I capture the strong line of his jaw.

The British country side is beautiful. Edward wanted to show me the peaceful shores, We were about to fly down for a weekend the first time... when we found out. I'm pregnant. Again. This time, I've made it. I'm 7 months along. Too far along to fly. My hand settles my camera back into my bag, and reaches up to smooth over my bulging belly. I feel at peace. I feel... Content.

I left behind the bright lights of the city, _the _city. I left behind _the_ city, because I love him this much. I would give up every single thing I own for him. I would throw myself in the water, not knowing how to swim... Because that splash that I'll create? It just might become the wave that will sail his ship towards the setting sun.

Before meeting Edward, I didn't understand. I didn't understand how it was possible to love so violently. To yearn for a simple look, a mere touch, a whispered word. But now, I know. I am consumed by his love. By him. My body is on fire when he kisses me, and I forgive him everything. I forgive him for leaving, for needing time to grieve, to be himself. I forgive him for not being able to suffer through so much loss; I can't either. He is a man who cries, who fears, who shouts, who can't speak any foreign languages, who is stubborn, who is impulsive, who can't skip stones, and who builds dreadful snowmen. But he is also a man that I love. A man that loves me, that is patient with me, that cooks an amazing risotto, who kisses me _just the way I like it_, who can draw Florence's Duomo from memory, and who has a bizarre affection for 90s music. He is a man who can swim marvellously well... In the cold, deep water. In the shallows.

A warm hand settles on top of mine, rubbing my bump. He nuzzles into my neck, placing kisses on the exposed skin.

I don't think I'll ever drown, again.

The train makes its way to the platform, the sandy beaches to the west, and rolling hills to the east.

This is where we'll make our home one day.

This is where we'll grow old together, laugh, kiss, make love.

And I'll be perfectly content with dipping my feet in those sandy shallows.


	11. Butterfly

My parents were in love. Not the kind of love that builds over time- not the kind of love that develops after years of fights. They didn't grow on one another. They were in love from the moment they laid eyes on each other. My entire life I've known them to be this way; every single thing they did, they did together. It was never a question of my mother going out with her friends, or my father going out with his buddies... It was: "What are we doing tonight?"

Of course they had their difficulties... perhaps they had more than a few. My father was notoriously hard-headed, and _fuck_, he would always do shit without consulting anyone like a total stubborn ass. When I was a teenager it would drive me up the walls.

I was a mistake. I was never supposed to happen. Well, that's not right. I was wanted. I was wanted so, so badly. I was prayed for, begged for, wished for. I was just the one that worked after so many trial and errors. The thing is, that my parents weren't trying to make me happen. But as it always was with my parents, I was the romantic aftermath to their reconciliation... I was the outcome of my father being a stubborn _jackass_. They named me Robin.

Every single memory I have of my childhood is filled with laughter, love and warmth. I would wake up every Sunday morning and tip toe into my parents' room and crawl into their bed. We'd spend the day there, they'd read the newspaper, I'd watch cartoons, sometimes my mom would tinker around with her camera, taking pictures of my dad and I. Sometimes my dad would sketch, drawing up plans for new buildings he'd build. When I was 8, my little brother happened. He, too, was unexpected. It's only when I got older and understood their plight that I grasped why my mother was in bed until he was born. Why every day when dad would pick me up from school, he'd rush through traffic, anxious to get to mom.

When Joshua was old enough to walk, the apartment was suddenly too small and we moved out of the city. My dad bought an old English estate in the suburbs of London. He renovated it, fixed it, and turned the musty old place into a home. That home is where we grew up. Where we were loved by two of the most incredible people. Where Joshua knocked out his two front teeth while on his bike, where I broke both legs jumping off my bed, where I eventually met Ethan, my husband. Where Joshua married Elizabeth, right in the backyard...

...And where, last week, both my parents died. They headed up straight to bed together after our traditional Sunday dinner with the kids, and grandchildren... They simply never woke up.

Auntie Rose and Aunty Alice say that this is the way that things were meant to happen... They needed to leave together, because neither could exist without the other.

Many people miss out on love, and while it hurts, and while I miss my parents more than words can express, I am so happy that they were able to love. That they were together every step of the way. They faced the waves together. Growing up, I never really understood how two people could love one another so much... But I always knew that no man loved a woman as much as my father loved my mother, and no woman loved a man as much as she loved him.


	12. Breaching

She is perfect.

I remember the first time I saw her, running, singing, laughing. She was the most beautiful thing in the world. I wanted to drown in her.

And I did.

I have been drowning in her since the tender age of 18. Her soft skin, her dark hair. Her pink cheeks. Her pillowed lips.

It didn't always make sense, Bella and I.

Leaving her will always be my biggest regret. But how else could I make her understand?

Losing a child is ... It's... There are no words to describe that much of pain. The helplessness, the feeling of your heart being ripped from your chest... It's only the tip of the iceberg. Everywhere, you'll see brown haired little boys and redhead little girls. Everywhere, you'll hear little giggles. You'll be walking to work in the morning and hear someone yell "Daddy" and your heart leaps up into your throat.

But the worst part, I think... Is seeing your wife- your everything- drown in her sorrow. Perhaps I am a weak man... perhaps I am a foolish man... But I did not know how to save her. How could I just sit there and watch her chip away at her soul? How could I find the strength to see her heart break over and over again?

Two years, we were apart. I thought that perhaps I had broken her beyond repair. That I had effectively destroyed _us_.

...I didn't. She found the strength to take me back. To forgive me my faults. To see past my inability to deal with so much pain.

It is because of her that I'm in this bed right now, her body curled up tightly against mine. It is because of her that I can hear the pitter patter of little footsteps running down the hall towards this very bed.

A beautiful brown haired boy, holding the hand of a beautiful redhead little girl. Pyjamas. Smiles on their faces.

Saturday morning lay in..

The sun is warm on my face, and Bella's hands are grasping my shirt towards her, her nose nuzzled into my neck. The smell of wet grass floats through the open windows.

The robin's egg blue walls are decorated with pictures of our little family. Our perfectly sized family.

My life is complete, and I am drowning in the love she's brought to my life.

_She _is the reason I am a father, a lover, a husband, a good man.

_She_ has made every tear, all the pain... _everything_ worth it.

* * *

**To my very own Edward, who died as I was writing this.**

**Thank you**


End file.
